


high dive down

by xeichr



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crushes, Dream's POV, George's POV, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Will add tags as I go, friends that are idiots to lovers, poolboy!dream, they're soulmates your honor, wilbur is tired of george's shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29826534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xeichr/pseuds/xeichr
Summary: George doesn’t know what he’d do without Dream. He doesn't know who he’dbewithout Dream.-Or: George drunkenly books a flight to Florida. For the record, it was a bad idea. But George thinks finally meeting Dream might just be worth it.Clay, on the other hand, is the pool boy of the airbnb George is staying at.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61
Collections: MCYT





	1. george in the sunshine state... what will he do

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is my first attempt at a multi chapter plot-centric fic... 404cord birthed poolboy dream, and... yeah this happened. title from malibu 1992 by COIN.
> 
> the dislaimer: if cc!s at any point in time express discomfort with fanworks such as this one being created about them, this work will be discontinued and deleted. 
> 
> yes, clay is the pool boy. yes, clay and dream are the same person. yes, george and dream are online friends who have known each other for six years. no, dream and george have not face revealed to each other. no, neither of them realize that clay is dream and george is george. tl;dr: they're idiots in love, your honor. :head in hands:

"How could you let me do this?" George yells at Wilbur, frantically attempting to pull the blinds in his bedroom closed. He regrets everything he did last night. _Everything_ . His head is throbbing, the world is simply too bright, and he can barely open his eyes to fumble for the aspirin he _knows_ is somewhere on his desk. Absently, George wonders if Wilbur hid it to torment him. He seems to be doing that a lot these days. 

"I'm sick of this! Every day, it's _Dream_ this, _Dream_ that." Wilbur yells back, exasperated. " _I'm_ starting to dream about Dream. Just. Fucking go see him. Confront your feelings. You already have the bloody tickets anyway."

George turns back to look at his too-bright pc screen, squinting. "July 16th," he reads and winces. "That's- that's next week!"

His flatmate grins at him. "Better get to packing then, Gogy."

-

It's how George finds himself on a twelve-hour plane flight the following week to _Florida_ of all places. _Twelve hours is simply too long a flight,_ he thinks. _720 minutes. 43200 seconds._ It's, unfortunately, ample and abundant time for George to overthink, panic, and reflect on all the bad choices he's ever made in his entire life. This one takes the cake, of course. 

On the other hand, maybe it's good that George is finally doing this. _After all, it's Dream. If it involves meeting Dream, it can't possibly be that bad an idea, can it?_

Dream, his best friend of almost six years now. Dream, who's sent George letters and packages; who stuck with him through uni and helped him through his parents' divorce. Dream, who encouraged George to go out more and meet some new friends (other than himself, of course) after noticing he spent all his time working, on his PC, or at school. 

Dream, who helped George meet Wilbur, now his other best friend (though George might revoke his status, just because of this). Dream, who was there for George when he had to have his cat put down, who was there for him when he was going to job interview after job interview, almost getting burnt out. Dream, who spends hours upon hours in VC with George, often just chatting, but even more often just sitting in silence, enjoying each other's company. Dream, Dream, _Dream_. George will never not say his name in reverence, because-

George doesn't know what he'd do without Dream. He doesn't know who he'd _be_ without Dream.

"So… this _Dream_." Wilbur had said when he first found out about Dream. It happened not long after he moved in. George could barely keep his online best friend a secret; together, they were basically a walking noise complaint. In fact, Wilbur had accepted the terms of a loud roommate (Wilbur wasn't too quiet a roommate himself either). 

"Yeah?" George had replied, unsure where this was going. In the back of his mind, he was worried Wilbur would think he was weird. After all, who spends hours on end every day talking with a random guy on the internet he's never even seen the face of?

"You've known him for almost six years. Snd the absurd amount of time you spend with him daily hasn't changed. Over these years." Wilbur had said, face impossible for George to read. 

"...Yes?" 

"You've sent each other letters. And packages. For birthdays and Christmas. And numerous other holidays. He's singlehandedly helped you through various difficult periods of your life," Wilbur continued. 

"...Where are you going with this?" George said hesitantly, if not a little apprehensively. 

"Interesting," Wilbur said, ignoring him, a pensive look on his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" George scoffed. "Prick." And Wilbur had smiled at him like he knew something George didn't, and that was that.

In hindsight, George should've known.

-

_No, this is most definitely a bad idea_ , George thinks as he steps off the plane, muscles and bones aching, eyes dry. The Florida heat isn't quite what he expected; it's humid and a tad suffocating, the warmth almost a distant afterthought. He drags his luggage out the main gate, eyes squinting at the sudden brightness, peering at his phone to call an Uber to get to his Airbnb. 

George had planned for his stay to be four weeks (so that he could spend time with Dream, of course) and had actually worried that it wouldn't be enough time. But as he stepped out of the car and onto the driveway of his temporary home, he suddenly felt like four weeks was forever. 

All at once, the reality of it all crashes down on George: he's within driving distance of Dream. And: _oh god, he hadn't thought this out at all._

George shakes his head in an attempt to free himself of these thoughts and walks towards the front door, pulling out his phone to recall the passcode of the keypad. He types in the four digits, and the door opens with a click. Stepping inside, he is immediately welcomed by sky blue walls and bright, open spaces. Shutting the door behind him, he decides to explore the place a little. 

It's a quaint condo, with one bed and one bath. There's a kitchen, a laundry room, and even a pool. George doesn't know why he picked out a place with a pool. He doesn't even swim. _Does Dream?_ he wonders absently, pulling open the sliding door that leads to the backyard, where the lounge chairs and tiled patio floor are quite reminiscent of those of hotels. 

It is suddenly bothering George an unreasonable amount that he doesn't know whether or not Dream likes to swim. He doesn't recall a conversation about this; maybe they've discussed it in passing. 

George pats at the dust on the chair and sits down at the edge. Looking over the trees behind the backyard, he sighs and pulls out his phone. Before anything else, he sees that there's a notification from Dream. 

**from: dream :]**

hope u landed ok :) text me when u get there

_sent 2h ago_

_Oh, the irony,_ George thinks to himself. He feels only slightly bad for lying to Dream (George told him he was travelling for work), but mostly he just feels bad for himself. Because right now, George wishes for nothing more but to put his headphones on, get in a call with Dream, and tell him what a mess he's gotten himself into. 

At least this place is nice, George muses, standing up to walk back inside. Quickly, he's finding that he can't bear to be outside for long. The humidity means that the longer you spend outdoors, the more your shirt sticks to your back, and your neck and palms get sweaty, and generally, George just isn't a fan of any of those things.

But he's here anyway. For Dream. Admittedly, there's not much George wouldn't do for Dream. Even before he realized his feelings for the blond, George thinks he would've done anything for him. Maybe. Probably. But even a perhaps is impressive for an online friend. 

If you asked George when he fell in love with Dream, he couldn't tell you. It wasn't a pinpointed moment, and it sure as hell wasn't a quick realization. It was slow, gradual, and it hit him like a freight train. Really, he couldn't tell you. Was it when he was 19, coding his first Minecraft mod with Dream in George's dorm room? 

Or perhaps 21, when George was rushing to the postal office after classes every day for a whole week, to check if the package from Dream had _finally_ arrived? Was it when he was opening the box and found an assortment of random things, including a Minecraft lamp and a miniature rose quartz elephant figurine, amongst other things, and thought to himself, _oh, this idiot_? Or was it when he was reading the handwritten letter in Dream's messy scrawl, reading the words _yours, Dream_? 

Maybe at 22, when George first started noticing how their sleep schedules synced up though he was five hours behind Dream, and how each and every one of their calls ended with whispered "I love you's"? 

One thing was for sure. Dream was a slow and gradual thing in George's life: something steady, unyielding. Life without Dream was something George simply couldn't imagine. He has no doubt Dream would give him the world if only he asked. 

In fact, Dream _has_ given George the world. He has Dream, doesn't he?

George's fingers hover over his keyboard, hesitating.

**to: dream :]**

safe and sound! a bit tired though

_sent just now_

He watches as Dream replies, astronomically fast:

**from: dream :]**

poggers, call me when ur feeling up to it 

_sent 2s ago_

George heads into the bedroom and flops down on the bed. Perhaps he should unpack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unpack?? yeah unpack ur feelings lmfao george L
> 
> ohhhh i have so many things planned for this fic you don't even know HAHA i kept the first chapter a bit short... it's kind of like an introduction i guess. future chapters will be longer hopefully!


	2. enter stage left: the pool boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream thinks, absently: _what the hell is a pretty British boy like_ him, _doing in the middle-of-nowhere suburban Florida, in the smack dab middle of July?_
> 
> In which George still hasn't gone to see Dream, but he _has_ (kind of) met the pool boy, Clay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hdhsdgghrfs i hope y'all enjoy <33 
> 
> also no, i don't know how cleaning a pool works and i've only ever seen pool boys in movies, so bear with me LOL

George has been in Florida for two days. He still hasn't managed to muster up the courage to just- get himself over to Dream's place to meet him finally, and he doesn't know why.

Well, he  _ does _ know why. But he'll never admit it.

Instead, he’ll spend his days either sulking, or in a call with Dream. George thinks it's quite ironic. But right now, Dream's offline ( _ I'll be back in a couple of hours, gotta run some errands,  _ he'd said), so George is left here, even more alone than before. He doesn't have his PC so he can't game, and he just doesn't know what to do. Once again, the lack of planning prior to this trip is really coming back to bite him in the ass.

Shutting his eyes, George tries to convince himself for the fifth time that morning to go see Dream already. But every single time, he is shot down by his worst enemy: himself. 

That little voice inside his head tells George that Dream would be over the moon; ecstatic, even, to know that he was here.  _ Here _ . With him. 

And George knows that's true. It's true, but he can't ignore the other part of him that knows if he sees Dream, if he spends real, actual time with Dream, talking to him in person, being so close to him but not being able to- no. He wouldn't be able to handle himself. George would, at  _ least _ , embarrass himself, and at  _ most, _ ruin their relationship- and that was something George wasn't willing to take a chance on. 

Most of the scenarios in George’s head end in Dream rejecting him, calling him disgusting or perverted. Some of them end less terribly, but just as gut-wrenchingly, where Dream rejects him politely, says, "I'm not into guys" maybe, or maybe just: "I'm not into you, George." He doesn't know which one hurts more. George's imagination rarely supplies him with a good ending- where Dream feels the same way about him, and they figure something out about their distance and live happily ever after. 

Yeah, no. 

George groans, rolling over on his bed. He hates the weather here. It's too hot, too humid, too  _ much _ , and there's just too little keeping him content. Just as he contemplates calling Wilbur to complain, he hears the front door shake. He pads over to the door cautiously and peeks through the peephole. To his surprise, he sees a guy around his age, blond, tall. He opens the door.

"Hello," George greets with the door only halfway open.

"Hey, could you let me in the back?" The blond says, barely looking at George as he fumbles with a huge duffel bag and a bright red bucket. He has a nice voice, George notes.

"And why exactly would I do that?" George says. "What if you're here to rob me?"

He huffs, "Sir, I've been here at this exact same time for the past three weeks now," He finally looks up and looks George in the eyes. "Wait. You're not- hey, are you British?"

"Yes," George replies, arms crossed, still waiting for an answer. "I am."

The blond looks confused for a second, but then he shakes his head, and the bemused look is gone. "Whatever," he clears his throat. "None of my business. I just need you to unlock the back gate so I can go in and clean the pool, thanks."

"Oh," George says. "The hosts did tell me something about a pool boy. Sure, just gimme a second."

He closes the door halfway, hearing a low mutter from the guy, something akin to: "don't call me a pool boy." George wants to laugh, but he doesn't know why. He doesn’t find it that funny. He goes out around the patio and fiddles with the lock. It was a little jammed, George realized, which was probably why he couldn't get in. 

"Should be good now!" George yells. He leaves the gate swinging open and walks back to the front door, where the guy is picking up his supplies and starting to walk around the back. 

"Thanks," the blond grins. "Nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Clay."

"I'm-" George starts to introduce himself, but Clay's already walked away. 

-

Mostly, Dream stays out of his hair. He's been here for upwards of two hours now, and George can't help but think he's hit rock bottom, finding mild entertainment (but mostly just distraction) watching a stranger clean a stranger's pool from his window while he sits, sulking and overthinking. Clay wasn’t bad-looking, per se; in fact, he was quite conventionally… attractive. And it’s not like George had anything better to do anyway. 

Pulling out his phone, he starts to text Dream.

  
  


**to: dream :)**

r u back :[ i'm bored

_ sent just now _

  
  


George stares at his phone just a minute longer, as though staring at it might somehow summon Dream and compel him to text back. Most of the time, Dream's a good texter (unlike George) and he's good at responding to things as well. Most likely, Dream was actually AFK and out being busy. 

He dials for Wilbur. 

"Hello?" The other Brit's voice rings through tinnily. "What d'you want, George. Have you and Dream made out yet? Because if not, then I don't want to hear anything else."

George rolls his eyes. "No, don't be ridiculous." He says, eyes shifting guiltily as though Wilbur were here in person. 

"Please tell me you've at least gone to see him," Wilbur says, sarcastically, in a tone that implies George must have gone to see him already.

George's silence is too long, and by the time he hurriedly opens his mouth to lie, it's like Wilbur's read his mind, and-

"What the FUCK?" The other Brit yells through the phone, so loud George winces and has to pull away from the speaker. 

"Yeah-" George starts, mentally preparing for the chew-out he's undoubtedly going to receive from Wilbur. "I just- I dunno."

"Gogy, Gogy,  _ Gogy _ ," Wilbur sighs. " _ Pull your head out of your arse. _ You're going to regret this. And then I'm gonna have to listen to you complain. So please, for my sake, George."

They talk for a bit more, George telling him about the horrid weather here, ("You're the one who chose  _ Florida Man _ to fall in love with.") and Wilbur telling him about the latest project he's working on and how it's coming along ("The plot for L'Manburg is almost all planned out- you'll see, George. It'll be just  _ grand _ .")

George hangs up and stares at the walls, spaced out, for a moment. Suddenly he remembers the presence of the pool boy. He scrambles to the window and finds him gone. Any trace the blond- Clay- has left, is only the clear water of the pool, now clean of any leaves and dead bugs that have fallen in throughout the week. 

He’s got nothing else better to do, and somehow the water looks tantalizing right now in the evening glow; the pool lighting making the water look warm and inviting. George has never been much of a swimmer, but without much thinking, he curves around the laundry room and over to the patio's sliding door. 

The night is warm, as always, but around this time is George's favourite; when it's still humid but the burn of the sun isn’t glaring into his back and making him sweat. Instead, it's a nice settling of comfortable heat; just hot enough to be comfortable out wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but not so hot that you want to climb out of your skin. 

George sits down at the edge of the pool, dipping his toes in to test the waters. He doesn't suppose the water is supposed to be heated, but it's slightly warm, probably because of the hot weather. George sinks his legs into the pool, the water coming up to rest at his knees. He puts the phone down, further away from the water so as not to get it wet, and leans back onto his hands. 

The sun is setting in blues and yellows; it sprays across the vast open stretch of sky, not a single cloud in sight. There are no stars, only the noise and blinking lights of the city behind him, all through the night. George closes his eyes, kicking his legs in the pool. The feel of the water rushing against his bare legs is something unfamiliar, though not new. He finds that he doesn't hate it, and, in the back of his mind, thinks that he may actually come to swim one of these days. 

George hears his phone buzz quietly beside him and picks it up.

  
  


**from: dream :)**

im back :) hope u didn't miss me too much

_ sent 1s ago _

  
  


He worries at his lower lip, thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

  
  


**to: dream :)**

pfft ofc not, who do you think you are

_ sent just now _

  
  


George thinks it might be nice to drive, hell, even  _ walk _ over to Dream's house right now. It might be a little creepy, sure, and more than a little awkward probably. But it'd be worth it, George thinks, to see Dream's face ( _ Dream's face! _ ) light up (hopefully); to hug him and say hi, in real life, finally after all these years. He shakes his head and looks down at his phone again.

  
  


**from: dream :)**

wanna vc?

_ sent 1m ago _

  
  


-

Dream sighs, pulling his arms behind his back in an attempt to crack his shoulders. He should probably take a shower first, then text George to let him know he's home. He knows they can't do the usual (Minecraft), but Dream thinks it'd be nice anyway, to just sit on call with him for a bit. 

And for some absurd reason, he can't stop thinking about the British guy he saw at that summer house today. He's been there weekly for almost a month now, and every time he's been there, the house has either been empty or occupied by some old couple.

_ It was just refreshing, _ Dream thinks.  _ Or weird. That's why he can't stop thinking about it. _ Not because he's, like, interested. Or intrigued, or anything like that. 

What the hell is a pretty British boy like him doing in the middle of nowhere suburban Florida, in the smack dab middle of July?

Dream decides it's none of his business, as he finishes washing his hair and reaches out the shower door to grab his towel. 

Shooting a quick text to George (" _ im back :) hope u didn't miss me too much _ "), Dream dries off his head with his towel and gets dressed. He's barely pulled his shirt over his head before George replies (" _ pfft ofc not, who do you think you are _ "), and Dream smiles to himself. 

Lately, it's been harder and harder to ignore the tightness in Dream's chest whenever he talks to George. It's a type of longing, a  _ yearning _ , he thinks,  _ one that makes perfect sense _ , because George is his best friend, right?

Right?

Right. 

The familiar incoming call ringtone of Discord rings quietly through the speaker of Dream's phone, interrupting his train of thought. He scrambles over to it, pressing the green accept button. 

"Hi," Dream says, and he hates that his voice is just on the edge of breathy.

"Why do you sound like that?" George laughs, the voice coming through tinny on phone speakers. 

Dream clears his throat. "Like what? Oh, no, I- um, just got out of the shower."

"Oh-kay?" George laughs again, and Dream feels that same tightness in his chest again. "So where'd you run off to today?" And the moment is gone, replaced only with Dream's nervousness- 

"Just- uh- buying groceries, and. Stuff. You know, the usual." Dream fibs. It's been the second hardest thing to avoid: accidentally telling George that he's taking on extra jobs so he can go see George just in time for his 25th birthday and maybe make fun of him for being old as hell (Dream really wants to tell George to his face that he's a quarter into being 100 years old). 

"Sounds boring," George teases. 

Dream blames what happens next on the hot weather. "It  _ is  _ boring. I wish you were here, George. Summers in Florida are so  _ dreadful _ . And hot. You can't imagine how hot it is, George. If you were here, I'd take you to the arcades and the beach and maybe you'd even get a tan-" Dream laughs. "Probably not. You'd burn. And I'd show you 'round my town- it'd be so fun, George. Instead, because you're  _ not _ here, I just lay in bed and play Minecraft all day, but it's not even that fun because you're not playing with me." He finishes, slightly out of breath. 

George is silent, and Dream panics, thinking,  _ oh God, I've done it now, I've said too much- _

"I can imagine, Dream. I bet it  _ is _ quite-" George snorts. "-warm there."

“What’s so funny?” Dream asks defensively. He hears George stifle a giggle.

“Nothing. Nothing,” George says, clearing his throat. 

-

George lies awake that night, Dream’s words replaying over and over again in his head like a broken record. __

_ If you were here, I'd take you to the arcades and the beach and-  _

_...it'd be so fun, George- _

_...not even that fun because you're not playing with me. _

And most of all,  _ I wish you were here, George. I wish you were- wish you were here, George. _

George promises to himself, silently, in his heart.

_ I’m gonna do it tomorrow. I have to. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh? he's gonna do it tomorrow?
> 
> a spotify playlist is in the works because i can't write shit without listening to music... so look out in my future end notes for that soon hopefully. best song for this fic rn is definitely: t-shirt by boy pablo
> 
> i think i'm estimating about at least 10 chapters for this fic... the entire plot is planned out and i've only gotten through, like, 18%. no promises though :]

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! if you did, consider leaving a kudos and perhaps a comment, it would really make my day :D
> 
> [my tumblr!](https://qxackity.tumblr.com) come yell at me or something


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